The Open Table
by Headbanger Rockstar
Summary: On Thanksgiving, Tony invites Gibbs to spend the day with him. But they aren't staying at Tony's house...where are they going? Rated for all readers. Father-son fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Happy Thanksgiving to all of my friends in the United States this weekend. Be safe and enjoy your holiday!  
><strong>Story Note: <strong>Oh my gosh I actually wrote a happy story! Well...happy by my standards hahahaha  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own NCIS or any of its characters.

**The Open Table  
><strong>**By Headbanger_Rockstar**

Wednesday November 23. The day before Thanksgiving. Tony DiNozzo was finishing up his report on the team's latest case. He typed the last sentence, saved it, clicked submit, clicked print, and sat back in his chair, letting out a long sigh.

It had been a rough case involving drugs, stolen funds, the death of a lieutenant's wife, and it had ultimately ended with the death of the lieutenant, thanks to a bullet from Tony's gun. McGee had turned his back on the lieutenant who then pulled a knife on him. He'd nearly stabbed McGee, but Tony's shot had been steady and at just the last second. McGee had earned himself a tongue lashing from their boss for his carelessness.

Tony had completed the required debriefings with Internal Affairs and the Director. He'd turned in his gun pending investigation—standard operating procedure, even though he and Gibbs agreed that it was a clean shooting. The report was the last piece of paperwork he had to complete for the case and he was more than ready to be finished with it. McGee was finishing his debriefings now.

The Senior Field Agent plucked his hot-off-the-press report off the printer and walked to Gibbs' desk where he placed it reverently in his boss' inbox.

"Here you go Boss," Tony said.

"All done DiNozzo?" Gibbs' reading glasses were perched on the end of his nose, and his eyes flickered to the report in his inbox.

"All done Boss," Tony replied.

Gibbs nodded and took off his glasses. "That was good work today Tony," he said softly. Tony nodded, uncomfortable with the praise. He'd only been doing his job. He'd done what he hoped McGee would do for him if the situation was reversed. "Go on Tony," Gibbs said. "Get outta here and enjoy your weekend. We're off rotation until Monday 0900."

Tony nodded and turned back to his desk. A moment later he stopped and turned back to face Gibbs' desk again. "You uh…um…nevermind," he said softly, turning away and shaking his head at himself.

"What is it Tony?" Gibbs wondered what was on Tony's mind.

Tony looked decidedly nervous. "Do you um…I mean that is…well Boss I was wondering…" he stopped and took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? "Do you have plans for Thanksgiving Gibbs?"

Gibbs smiled, wondering why Tony was so nervous. His stuttered ramblings were reminding him greatly of McGee when he first joined the MCRT.

"Actually," Gibbs said, frowning when Tony's face dropped just slightly, "I don't have plans for tomorrow," he said softly.

Tony blinked. "Really?" He was unable to hide the hopefulness in his voice.

Gibbs nodded. "Really Tony," he said softly. "What'd you have in mind?"

"I um…well I was wondering if you wanted to um…hang out with me," Tony said lamely.

Gibbs nodded. They'd spent several holidays in each other's company over the past few years. "Your place or mine?"

"Uh…mine. If that's ok."

"That's fine Tony. What time?"

"Can you come…um…at like, ten?"

It seemed a bit early to celebrate Thanksgiving to Gibbs, but it also sounded like he wasn't getting the whole story. And Tony looked pretty nervous.

"Everything ok? You don't have a secret bride you're going to introduce me to, do you?"

Tony paled. "N-nuh, no Boss! Just uh, want it to be a um…a nice day. That's all. So…ten?"

Gibbs nodded. "It'll be nice Tony. We'll have fun. I'll bring the beer."

Tony nodded also. "Great. Sounds great. Night Boss."

Gibbs smiled as Tony all but ran from the office. "Night Tony," he said softly.

xxx

At exactly 9:58 the next morning Gibbs raised his hand and knocked on Tony's door. He was holding a six pack of Dominion beer in his hand. His Senior Field Agent lived in a modest two bedroom apartment with a view overlooking Columbia Ave. near Georgetown in DC. He'd lived here ever since he'd moved to DC and completed FLET-C.

Gibbs had spent a great deal of time in this apartment with Tony—thanks to holidays, illnesses, injuries, and random movie nights. Gibbs and Tony were as close to family as two unrelated people could be. They'd come to expect spending holidays together, but for some reason, this was the first Thanksgiving they were spending together outside of the office.

Tony opened the door. "Hi Boss!" Gone was the nervousness from last night. "Come in!" He stepped out of the way to allow his friend through the door and into the apartment.

Gibbs' jaw dropped when he saw Tony's living room.

"Tony? What's all this stuff?"

Tony's living room was filled with shopping bags. The bags were filled with sheets, blankets, sweaters, towels, gloves, hats, scarves and coats—every article of clothing you could imagine to keep warm with.

"Well Boss…I may not have been entirely honest with you last night. We're not going to spend Thanksgiving here. I mean, unless you want to then we can, but I'll still need to run out for a bit and take this stuff to—"

"I'm game for going wherever you had in mind Tony. Should I have dressed up?" Gibbs was wearing his old Marine Corps sweatshirt and jeans with his sneakers.

"You're dressed fine Gibbs. I'm going like this. No need to dress up." Tony was in his Ohio State hoodie with a long-sleeve t-shirt under it and jeans. "Did you bring your car Boss?"

"It's Jethro when we're not working you know that, and yes I did," Gibbs replied.

"Awesome then we won't have to make two trips…I wasn't sure this stuff would all fit into my car…I've been collecting stuff for a couple of months now and didn't realize how much I had."

"It should all fit in my trunk," Gibbs said nodding his head. Then something else caught his eye. "What's this Tony?"

"Oh that. That um…is a collection of my suits that I um…am not wearing anymore," Tony said softly.

"What are ya doing with them?"

"Taking them with us. I told Rusty I'd bring some with me when I came."

"Where exactly is it that we're going?"

"Well see, when I came to DC I didn't know anybody, and that first year we didn't work on Thanksgiving. I kind of um…went and volunteered at this Mission House down the block. And it's kind of become a yearly tradition—if I'm off work, then I always go. I thought…I thought maybe this year you'd want to come with me," Tony said. "But if you don't that's fine, I completely understand."

Gibbs smiled at his boy, proud of him. "And this stuff is going with us?"

"Yeah. There's always a shortage of stuff like this…they have some beds in the house, so I got enough new sheet sets to cover each of the beds…and then I got a whole bunch of blankets and throws and stuff so that the guys will all have something to cover up with in case there isn't enough beds. And y'know how cold it gets…lots of these people die from frostbite and stuff every year. I have the money…got a whole freakin' trust fund from my mom…can't use it all on myself Gibbs," Tony said, his voice getting softer and softer as he spoke. "I'm taking the suits because a lot of the guys are looking for jobs and stuff…I thought they might help them look a little more put together…might help them get back on their feet, y'know."

Gibbs' heart filled with pride. He reached out and squeezed the back of Tony's neck affectionately. "You're a good boy Tony. Proud of ya," he said. "C'mon, let's load this stuff up."

xxx

It took them six trips up and down the four flights of stairs to Tony's apartment to get all of the things loaded into Gibbs' trunk. By the time Tony dropped into the front seat of Gibbs' now filled car, he was breathing hard and slightly out of breath.

"Ok Tony?"

Tony nodded. "I'm ok," he panted. "Just hate…those friggin…stairs."

"You bring your inhaler?"

Tony nodded again. "I'll use it…'f I need it," he said. "Just needa…needa minute."

"I'm trusting you on that one," Gibbs said, pulling out into traffic. "Point me in the right direction."

Tony pulled out his inhaler and pointed right. Together they sped down the street.

xxx

"This is the place Boss. You can pull in right here," Tony said, pointing to an open slot in front of a nondescript three story house, seven blocks from Tony's apartment.

"Ohhhh you came, you came!" A woman in her late fifties with gray-ish brown hair rushed out of the house. She hit Tony in a full body hug, very similar to an Abby hug, and then turned to see who Tony brought with him.

"Rusty this is uh, this is my boss, who is also my closest friend. Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, meet Rusty. Rusty, meet my boss."

"Ohhhh you're so sweet to come with Tony," Rusty said, hugging Gibbs equally as tightly as she hugged Tony a moment earlier.

Gibbs smiled. "Call me Jethro," he said. "Pleasure's mine. Tony surprised me with this."

"I brought stuff Rusty. Like I said I would," Tony said quietly. Gibbs opened up his trunk while Tony opened the back door.

Rusty's eyes rounded. "All of this?" Her voice sounded slightly choked up and her eyes glassed over with tears. "You brought all of this for us?"

Tony nodded, smiling cheekily. "We brought blankets and sheets for all the beds upstairs, new towels and washcloths for the bathrooms, coats, hats, gloves, scarves, and socks. And I went through my suits and brought the ones I don't need anymore in. I know you mentioned that a lot of the guys are trying to find work…if this will help them then…" Tony shrugged. "I wanna help," he whispered.

Rusty hugged Tony again and kissed him on his cheek. She held his face in both of her hands. "You are an angel," she said. "Sent from God. You know that right?"

Tony blushed. "Just had a lot of stuff lying around I didn't need anymore," he said, trying to deflect the praise.

"That's a lot of stuff to have just lying around your apartment," Rusty said. "And a lot of stuff that still has tags on it," she said.

Tony smiled and nodded. "Ok ya got me. Let's just take it inside. Quit fussing over me," he laughed, his ears pink.

Gibbs stood back and watched the exchange. This woman adored Tony in a completely maternal way. She looked older than she probably was, and Gibbs figured that was due to years of taking on the stress and pain of those people around her. But she was a gentle person, Gibbs could easily see that. He could also see that just below the surface was a wild cat that no one dared to anger.

Together they started unloading the car. A moment after they took their first handfuls in the car, two guys volunteering at the shelter came out to Gibbs' car and helped unload more of it. Once they got everything inside, Tony pulled off his jacket and headed out into the dining room. It was already beginning to fill up with people of every variety.

Gibbs hung back a bit, just watching his boy use his dazzling personality to brighten these people's lives. He was surprised to realize that Tony knew most of the people by name, knew most of their families, and were aware of facts about the people he knew—favorite colors, who liked chocolate, who had arthritis or some other ailment—things about people that you find out from spending time with them. It was quickly obvious to Gibbs that Tony spent a lot of time here helping Rusty out. This was way more than a one time a year deal.

A while after their arrival, Tony returned to Gibbs' side. "We're gonna help serve up Thanksgiving Dinner," Tony said. He looked at Gibbs, taking in the odd look on his face. "What?"

Gibbs smiled. "You're happy here. Makes me happy to see you happy like this."

"I like these people. They don't…they don't care who I am or where I came from. They're just glad to see someone friendly. What do you think of this place?"

"I think it looks pretty amazing," Gibbs said. "What's it called?"

"It's called The Open Table," Tony said. "It's a privately funded mission…but the money is running low, so there's not a lot of money for supplies like blankets and towels and stuff. Their food money comes from donations, and they get some food donations from the local food bank."

"Sounds like they need all the help they can get," Gibbs said wisely. He followed Tony down the short hallway into the kitchen.

In the kitchen they washed their hands and put on plastic food service gloves. Tony showed Gibbs where the plates were stored while he got out the plastic eating utensils. Working in tandem as they often did, it didn't take long for Tony and Gibbs to get an efficient system set up, fixing plates for their guests, filling them high with food, and Rusty began rushing them out to the people waiting to eat. There was turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans and corn. Every person got a dinner roll. And instead of water or the watered down juice they were typically served, today they were served tea to drink with real ice in the cups. There was an entire rack of fresh baked pumpkin pies for dessert with whipped cream to go on top.

Once every person had been served—over two hundred people—Tony turned to Gibbs and smiled. "Now we eat too," Tony said. They fixed their own plates, identical to the ones they'd served the others, and Tony led Gibbs to the dining area where there were several people were sitting at a table that had a couple of free seats.

"May we join you?"

One of the women looked up and her eyes widened. "Tony? Tony is that you?"

Tony smiled and nodded at the older lady. "It's me Miss Maudine. How are you?"

"Lord honey this has been a hard year ya know?"

He'd heard about her son being arrested for drugs, and her husband being killed while he worked third shift in a gas station not far from the mission. He squeezed her hand. "I know," he said softly. "I'm so sorry to hear about everything you've gone through this year."

She nodded and patted Tony's cheek. "I still gotta lot to be thankful for," she said. "This nice meal, the nice pink fuzzy blanket that someone brought in with them today." She looked meaningfully at Tony. "You're a good boy, you know that?"

"Thank you ma'am," Tony said softly, his voice creaking with emotion. "Uh Miss Maudine I'd like you to meet my very good friend. He's…well he's like a father to me. His name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"Jethro, please," Gibbs said politely shaking the dark skinned hand.

She smiled at him. "You work with Tony dontcha?"

Gibbs blinked. "Uh yes," he said. "How'd you know that?"

"I heard Tony talk about Gibbs before. You're good for him, you know that?"

Beside him, Tony blushed. Gibbs smiled. "He's a good boy without me helping."

Tony looked down. "Not so special," he said softly. "Just a normal guy."

"No Tony," Miss Maudine said. "No you aren't normal. Not at all."

"Normal guy would sit at home and drink beer and watch football all day," Gibbs said, pointing out exactly what _he'd_ been expecting to do all day. "Normal guy wouldn't load his car so full it wouldn't close with gifts for people that need the things he has. Normal guy wouldn't raid his own closet of designer suits to give away to people who maybe can't afford a suit. Normal guy wouldn't be here."

"Not many people come here by choice, Tony," Miss Maudine said. "But you? You're here all the time. You're here enough that you know the people's names, you know that Mr. Byrd over there don't like butter on his bread, and you know that Miss Annie's favorite color is that light baby blue. You know that my Marvin died this year and that my Eddie is in jail. You always send Miss Rusty a Christmas card and gift because you care about her, and you always dropping stuff off for us here. You think we don't notice."

She smiled kindly at Tony whose eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"We notice child. We notice. And this year we's all thankful that you are here, and that you come to spend your thanksgiving with us."

Gibbs clapped Tony on the shoulder, and two happy tears slid down Tony's face.

xxx

Later that afternoon, once all of the food had been eaten—and indeed, all of the food was eaten—and after all of the blankets, coats, and other gifts had been carefully distributed, Tony and Gibbs helped Rusty clean up the dishes and put them away.

"You know Tony," Rusty said. "I've been wondering something."

"What's that?"

Rusty wiped her towel over another serving pan. "You come here every year. Usually alone."

Tony nodded, wiping his rag over the counter, dragging crumbs carefully into his hand and studiously avoiding her gaze.

"We aren't complaining, and we love having you here, but…where's your family?"

Gibbs paused in his dish washing, but didn't turn around. He wanted to hear what Tony had to say.

Tony was quiet for a long moment. "I um…well it's uh…" he chuckled nervously. "It's complicated."

Rusty raised an eyebrow. "Try me. Bet I've heard about everything."

Tony ran a wet hand through his hair, causing it to stand up spikier than normal. "I um…well my family…they aren't exactly the nicest people…they're rich and selfish…self-centered…conning, crooked…" he broke off and shuddered at the mere thought of them.

"Who cut ties with who?" Rusty was very perceptive.

"They disowned me," Tony said in a low voice. "I've been on my own ever since."

Rusty stopped and put her hands on Tony's shoulder, turning him to look at her. "How old were you?"

Tony looked at her for a long moment before his gaze dropped and he turned back to his (now sparkling) counter. "I was twelve," he said softly. He shrugged. "Like I said," he chuckled sadly. "Complicated."

Rusty knew there were not words to make this pain of Tony's go away. "Well," she said finally. "You know we love having you here—even if you can't afford to bring your own glass of water with you—you're always welcome here with us."

She hugged Tony again and did not comment on the tears in his eyes. How badly did this kid need to feel loved? Had no one ever loved him before?

"Thanks Rusty," he whispered. Then he glanced around. "Um. Looks like we're all done here. Boss? You ready to hit the road?"

"We're only going seven blocks," Gibbs said. "That's hardly hitting the road," he chuckled.

Together they bid Rusty goodbye, and both of them promised to come back soon to visit and help out again.

xxx

Gibbs pulled into Tony's parking lot. It was nearly dark out. "You uh, you wanna come up Boss? Er, Jethro? We could order a pizza and watch a movie? You did bring beer."

"Sure," Gibbs said.

He parked the car and they got out. When they got up to Tony's apartment, Gibbs called and ordered the pizza while Tony picked out a movie.

"So I'm um…I'm glad you came with me today," Tony said softly. "I mean going alone is still fun and all, but was nice…it being the holiday and all…was nice having you with me. Wouldn'ta been a holiday without that."

Gibbs smiled. "Thank you for inviting me. You're the closest thing to family I've got," he said seriously. "I mean I talk to my dad every now and then, but…but he doesn't know me. Y'know? Not like you."

Tony smiled, ear to ear, quite possibly showing off all of his teeth. "Thanks Boss," he said softly. "That's a huge compliment. I feel the same way."

"Glad ya stuck around kid," Gibbs said. He held up his beer bottle. "Family?"

Tony clinked his bottle to Gibbs'. "Family."

**The End!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Wasn't really planning to write a sequel to this, but the other day I read back over the first part of this story and the sequel just screamed at me to be written. There might be another piece after this, but I'm not going to promise, because I haven't decided yet. Next order of business is to get Little Tony talking. Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/alerts/favorites. I really appreciate all of your kind support.

_Thanks as always to my beta reader, Gotgoats, who helped me so much with this story. She rocks!_

**The Open Table  
><strong>**Chapter 2: Saved**

Tony was at his desk, knee deep in paperwork, fanning himself with one hand while he typed diligently with two fingers on his other hand, when his cell phone rang. Gibbs grunted at the sound, glared at Tony for a brief moment, but didn't comment. Tony plucked the phone from his belt and looked at it. He didn't recognize the number. He set the phone down next to his keyboard and resumed typing (now two handed) and glanced at it when the screen lit up indicating he had a voicemail. He'd check it later. The air conditioning at NCIS wasn't working properly and everyone was sweating—the heat blowing through the air vents was winning no friends in the hot July weather.

The Senior Field Agent on Gibbs' team was really not having the best of days. He'd chased a suspect into an alley, ended up in the dumpster with him—the nice, full, juicy dumpster from the restaurant in the building sidling the alley. After managing to get the stupid perp handcuffed, Tony had twisted his knee climbing down from the dumpster, leaving him with an aching appendage and a foul mood. He wanted, no _needed_ a shower in the worst kind of way, but he knew that until his paperwork was finished, there would be no break for him.

Finally, _finally_, he clicked print on his report and emailed a copy of it to Gibbs. Tony rose stiffly from his chair, forcing the grunt of pain to stay in his mouth, and headed for his Boss' desk. He set the report down reverently in front of Gibbs and waited for a reaction. He felt a bit like a schoolboy waiting for praise from his teacher.

Gibbs, however, wasn't in the mood for praising anyone. He picked up the report, threw it into his Inbox, and glared up at Tony. "Go get a shower DiNozzo," he snapped. "It's bad enough that it's a million degrees in here, but we don't need you making it smell like a swamp."

Ziva and McGee each snickered from behind their monitors.

Tony glanced over his shoulder at each of them—swearing revenge for later—because where were _they _when he was dumpster diving after the perp?—and then looked back at Gibbs. "On it Boss," he said softly. "Won't be a minute."

"Take more than a minute," Gibbs said with an exasperated sigh, the look on his face showing that he regretted his previous tone. He looked up at his second in command. "You did good work today. Go get a shower."

Tony blinked at the praise and then nodded. "Thanks Boss," he said quietly. He turned and moved to his file cabinet to grab his go-bag without another word. As he headed down to the gym for a shower, he flipped open his cell phone and checked the voicemail from earlier.

"_Tony this is Rusty from The Open Table. I'm sorry I'm calling from an unfamiliar number, but I'm at the trustee's lawyer's office. I um…I need to talk to you…as soon as you can give me a call. I know your work schedule isn't very regular, so there's no urgent rush, but just…as soon as you can. It's very important. My number is…"_ her voice continued droning on in Tony's ear, but he didn't hear anything else.

Rusty's voice sounded horribly tired, broken and sad. Tony was instantly concerned. He clicked into his contacts and looked up the number for The Open Table.

The Open Table was a shelter for homeless people and folks who were down on their luck in the Georgetown district. It was located in a nondescript three story house, seven blocks from Tony's apartment. It was privately funded by a trustee and in the past couple of years, things had been declining. The trust fund that supplied the shelter was nearly tapped out, and Rusty, the shelter's director, had warned Tony that unless things changed, she wasn't sure how long they'd be able to stay up and running.

Tony pressed the phone against his ear and leaned casually against the wall, the need for a shower momentarily forgotten. It wasn't long before someone answered the phone—a volunteer from the sounds of it.

"_Open Table,"_ came the stiff, uncomfortable sounding voice.

"Hi this is Tony DiNozzo. I'd like to speak to Rusty please."

"_Oh um…just a minute,"_ the voice said.

There was a long pause, and after a couple of minutes, another phone was picked up. _"This is Rusty,"_ came the tired voice of Tony's longtime friend.

"Hey Rusty," he said quietly. "It's Tony. I just got your message."

"_Oh Tony,"_ she breathed. _"I'm so happy you called. I just…I wanted you to hear this from me and not from…from something or someone else."_

"Hear what?" Tony's gut tightened. He feared he knew what was coming next.

"_We're out of money,"_ Rusty whispered. _"I just met with the trustee and his lawyer. We don't…we're out of money. We have to close down at the end of the month."_

Tony felt like his legs wouldn't hold him. The Open Table was an important part of his life outside of NCIS. He spent many holidays and weekends there, feeding hungry people, making sure they had what they needed to get by, and he spent a good bit of his own money on supplies and things for the shelter and the people he cared about so deeply within it. Last Thanksgiving he'd taken Gibbs with him to spend the day there. They'd worked together serving lunch, passing out supplies that Tony had brought—they'd filled Gibbs' challenger's trunk full of bags of things to donate. And now it was…they would be gone…what would those people do? Where would they go?

"What happens to the people who are staying there?" Tony asked softly. "What happens to you Rusty? What will you do?"

It was a pretty well known, though not-ever-discussed fact that Rusty lived at the shelter herself. If they closed, she'd likely be out on the street just like the people she worked so hard to advocate for.

"_I don't know,"_ she breathed, her voice shaky. _"I just…there's no more money. It's over Tony. I just wanted you to know."_

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked gently. He knew this may not be the best time to ask—might get more of an emotional response than a helpful one—but he had to try.

"_Not unless you know how to magically make the monthly overhead expenses appear in our account,"_ Rusty said with a cynical laugh.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "How much is the overhead each month—including enough supplies and food for everyone?"

"_I've been doing it for about $3000 a month,"_ Rusty said, _"Food and supplies all come from donations…that money covers the mortgage on the building, the lights, water, and phone…but I guess that isn't good enough. I guess I could have saved some money in other ways if I'd thought about it…we could've gotten rid of the phone…maybe dropped down to only one water heater…but I guess it's too little too late."_

Tony's mind was already racing though. He had a plan. "Don't give up yet," he told his friend. "Sometimes things work out."

"_You're such an optimist,"_ Rusty said gently. _"For someone who deals in death and destruction every day, you sure do have a sunny outlook on things."_

"Comes with the job," Tony said easily. "Don't give up hope yet ok? I'll be in touch. Keep me posted on what's going on."

"_I will,"_ Rusty said. _"But Tony…Tony don't do anything crazy."_

"Hey," Tony said. "Don't worry about me. Just believe that everything is going to be fine."

"_I'll try,"_ Rusty whispered.

A few moments later, Tony closed his phone. He tapped it lightly on the palm of his hand for a moment, then nodded, his decision made. He picked up his go-bag from where he'd dropped it on the floor and headed to the showers.

xxx

The instant Tony re-entered the bullpen, Gibbs knew something was up. Something had happened. He could tell by the way Tony was holding his shoulders. He also made a mental note to ask his second in command about the limp he was now sporting—Gibbs thought he'd seen Tony wince once when he was crawling out of the dumpster with the perp, but he couldn't be sure—there had been a lot going on in that moment.

Instead of walking to his desk, Tony walked to Gibbs' desk and he stopped, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do you need something Tony?" Gibbs asked, trying to keep the bite out of his tone. He didn't want Tony to feel as though he couldn't come to him if he really needed something.

"I um…I need to take a couple of hours," Tony said softly. "I know it's last minute and unexpected, but…" he let out a long breath and a look of pain crossed his features, "but it's really important."

Gibbs eyed the younger man carefully. He and Tony were close—as close as two unrelated people could be—they were truly like family. And, like family, Gibbs could tell when something was bothering his boy. He pushed back from his desk.

"With me," he said softly, walking towards the elevator.

Gibbs held the door on the elevator open for Tony, who limped as quickly as he could to keep up. Once inside the elevator, Gibbs punched the button to stop the metal car. In the dim lighting, Gibbs looked at Tony carefully. "What's going on?" he asked.

"You know that phone call I got earlier?" Gibbs nodded. Tony cleared his throat. "It was Rusty. From the uh…shelter. The Open Table. Remember that's where we—"

"I remember," Gibbs told him softly, recalling the previous Thanksgiving. "Everything ok?"

Tony paced the length of the elevator, his limp more pronounced up close. "No," he said quietly. "No, everything's all wrong. Rusty had to meet with the trustee and his lawyer today…" he looked at Gibbs. "The Open Table is out of money. They are set to be shut down at the end of the month unless by some miracle they can get the cash together to cover the monthly overhead."

"Christ," Gibbs muttered. "How much is the overhead?"

"Around three grand a month," Tony said, resuming his pacing.

"So what does that have to do with you needing to take some time off this afternoon?" He didn't sound like he was not going to let Tony have the time, he merely was trying to get all the information he could.

Tony sighed and stopped, his back to Gibbs, and put his hands flat palmed against the cool silver-chrome walls. "I'm going to talk to my financial advisor," he said softly, head dipping low. "I'm going to use my trust fund to help them stay open."

Gibbs' eyes widened. He'd heard Tony mention his trust fund before, but he'd never inquired about how much money it actually was, and he never honestly thought it was _that _much. To hear Tony talking about using his trust fund to keep an entire shelter open…

"Tony how much money is in your trust fund?" he asked gently.

Tony was quiet for a long moment. "Um…well I don't check it every day…but last time I looked at it…just over twelve," he said quietly.

"Twelve thousand?" That'd help for several months, but not for the duration…

"Twelve million," Tony said softly. He turned and looked at Gibbs. "I have twelve million dollars at my disposal to do with as I please."

Gibbs was honestly surprised. "What have you been doing with it?"

"Mostly letting it sit in mutual funds since forever," Tony said honestly. "Never knew what to do with the money. I pull some out here and there—bought my car, bought some suits, couple of shelves for my movie collection…I use some of it to help cover the cost of my rent every month, but mostly it just sits there," he said. "The fund came from my mother's estate. My father can't touch it…I always wanted to use the bulk of it for something…for something that she would approve of," he shrugged and his ears tinged pink. "I think she'd approve of this," he whispered.

Gibbs nodded. "I think she would," he agreed. "Have you talked to Rusty about this yet?"

"No," Tony shook his head. "She'd tell me not to do it. She already told me not to do anything crazy." He looked up at Gibbs, his eyes begging for advice, support, _something_. "Gibbs they're…they're like my family ya know? I've been going there since I came here…I've known them as long as I've known you. To not have that…" he shrugged. "Am I being crazy?"

"Yes," Gibbs said quickly, without hesitation. "But that crazy is what people love about you. I think it's a good idea to give the shelter some money. I'm not sure you need to give it all to them though," he cautioned. "Especially if you are using some of it to help cover the cost of your rent every month."

"Well that's the other thing," Tony said uncomfortably. "I um…am going to move. If I can get in a cheaper place, then I can give them more money. If I can cover all of my own overhead costs with my paycheck, then I won't need the trust fund."

"Tony listen to me. You have enough to take care of you and the shelter. Don't sell yourself short—those people—_your family_ wouldn't want you to do that."

Tony began pacing again. He was quiet for a long moment, then looked at Gibbs. "What if I bought myself a condo? Could get an affordable place, pay cash for it, fix it up however, and then I wouldn't even have to worry about paying rent every month—and I wouldn't have to worry about my boiler exploding either," he said sheepishly. The busted boiler and ensuing slumber party at Gibbs' house had been joked about for years.

Gibbs nodded. "I like that idea better. Make sure you have what you need. It's not doing a service to anyone if you put yourself so far out of bounds by your gift that you end up needy as well."

Tony nodded. "That's true," he said. He understood the wisdom of Gibbs' advice. He took a deep breath. "Would you um…help me look at places? You see things that I don't even think to look at," he added.

Gibbs nodded without hesitation. "When I get the reports from Ziva and McGee we'll go get started. Be thinking about what you want and what neighborhood you want. And go meet with your advisor and get their brain at least wrapped around the concept. But I'd suggest sleeping on everything before you make any big decisions. This is a pretty big deal—and you're really tied up in it emotionally. That's not a bad thing, but I'd say take a few days and really consider the offer you are making. Twelve million dollars is a lot of money."

"I know. I know. I'll go talk to my advisor and catch up with you later."

"Sounds good," Gibbs agreed.

"Thanks Boss," Tony said softly.

Gibbs smiled. "Don't thank me yet DiNozzo. We haven't even started looking. You might get tired of me."

"Not gonna happen."

xxx

Tony's advisor, Kelvin Gentry, quite nearly had a stroke when Tony told him what he wanted to do with his trust fund.

"Mr. DiNozzo…absolutely I would encourage making a charitable donation…at the very least because it is tax deductible, but moreso because this…organization…is so special to you. I am strongly advising against you donating all of your money to it, however," he said firmly.

"You aren't listening," Tony said. "This is my money. The _only_ stipulation that was placed on _my _money, was that I be 21 years of age before I assume control of it. I am now 36 years old, and have possession and control of _my _money for fifteen years now. I'm a big boy Mr. Gentry. I can make decisions without your help. I can also find a new financial advisor if necessary—someone who will listen to me."

Gentry gulped. Mr. DiNozzo was always so laid back and easy going…perhaps he'd overstepped…but perhaps not.

"Mr. DiNozzo," he said softly, "please consider my position. I cannot, in good conscience, advise you to take your entire trust fund—over twelve million dollars—and donate it to such a risky venture. Perhaps if you donated a percentage of it—or a percentage of it each year for years to come—but to just take your entire principle and just…give it all away…"

Tony leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, hands folded, and he narrowed his eyes. "I'll tell you the only _position _I'm getting from you," he said softly, his voice clipped and serious. There was no trace of the lighthearted, easy going man that Mr. Gentry knew.

"What is that, Mr. DiNozzo?" Gentry asked, trying to maintain control of the situation.

Tony's eyes narrowed even farther. "I see a business man making a monthly commission on _my _money—a man who is now worried that he will lose his paycheck. That is the position I am seeing from you, _sir._"

Gentry's mouth dropped open and he slightly resembled a fish out of water. "It—It's not like that," the balding, middle aged financial planner said, sweat beads beginning to form on his forehead.

"No?" Tony asked.

"Of course not!" Gentry exclaimed.

"Then why are you so nervous?" Tony-the-investigator wanted to know.

"I…"

Tony shook his head. "Save it. I'm done here. I will have my new advisor contact you for my account information. Have a nice day," Tony snapped. A moment later Gentry's office door slammed and the man flinched slightly. Tony—and his money—were gone. The Paddington Trust was Gentry's largest and most stable account.

Without Tony…and his money…Gentry would be ruined.

xxx

Gibbs was sitting in Tony's living room, waiting for him, when Tony slammed into the apartment. He blinked at the older man, thumbing through a car magazine, looking quite comfortable.

"Long day at the office?" Gibbs asked mildly, not looking up from the article he was reading.

Tony snorted then loosened his tie. "My damn financial advisor…ex-financial advisor," he shook his head and flopped into a chair.

Gibbs set the magazine aside. "Wanna talk about it?"

Tony ran his hands through his hair. "He didn't want to listen to me. Didn't want to do what I told him to do with my money. MY money," Tony growled. "So…I fired him. I'll find someone else."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "What exactly did he say?"

Tony rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "He said he couldn't, 'in good conscience,' allow me to put all of my money into such a risky venture." Tony rolled his eyes again. "But what he really meant was he doesn't want to lose the monthly commission check he gets for managing my account."

Gibbs steepled his fingers in front of his face carefully. "Honestly Tony…I can see wisdom and truth on both sides," he said, knowing full well this could really piss Tony off.

Tony started to speak, but Gibbs cut him off with a lifted hand. "I'm not saying you shouldn't give your money to The Open Table. But it is your advisor's job to alert you to any risks—it's what you pay him for—even when your own judgment might be the risk he is seeing," Gibbs said gently. "I would suggest you appoint someone to work with The Open Table to make sure your money is being used as you intend for it to be. Someone other than yourself. Someone who will look out for your best interests and give The Open Table what they need as well. And if you approach it in that manner, your advisor might be more willing to listen."

Tony thought about what Gibbs said for a long moment, and Gibbs decided to throw another two cents in while he was already talking. "And we will find you a place you can buy outright. A nice place that you can afford to keep up on your salary. There's no reason for you to have as much money as you do and still be renting a two-bedroom apartment."

Tony nodded. "I just want to help them," he said softly. "They've…they've done a lot for me…and I just…I can't stand the thought of them closing down—especially if I can help them to stay open. They help people Gibbs. Really truly help people. I want to be part of that. I want to put my name on something good like that."

xxx

Tony called up Mr. Gentry the next morning and set up an appointment with him for that afternoon. "I've done some thinking, and some discussing with someone I trust," Tony told him. "I'd like for us to meet and discuss some alternatives to what we talked about yesterday."

Mr. Gentry readily agreed.

The team had finished their case the day before, and hadn't caught a new one yet. It had been one of those months where the team had case after case, back to back, so to reward everyone for their hard work (and to free himself up to go with Tony) Gibbs gave everyone the afternoon off. McGee and Ziva thanked their boss repeatedly, all the while grabbing their backpacks and running for the elevator. They didn't even notice that Tony was still at his desk.

Once they were gone, Gibbs picked up his keys. "C'mon DiNozzo," he told his friend. "Let's grab a sandwich and a newspaper with some classified ads, and we'll get busy this afternoon."

Tony nodded.

They grabbed lunch at a nearby corner deli—in walking distance to NCIS, and sat with their noses tucked into newspapers, mostly without talking, each one holding a pen in his hand, making marks and circles of potential properties and homes to look at. After lunch, Gibbs slid behind the wheel of his truck, and Tony climbed into the cab next to him, and together they set off for Mr. Gentry's office with Tony giving directions.

When they arrived, Tony paused for a moment before getting out of the car. Gibbs noticed. "Ok Tony?" he asked.

Tony nodded. "I just hope he'll listen to me this time," he sighed.

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder once. "I think he will."

Two hours later, Tony and Gibbs left Mr. Gentry's office. Mr. Gentry had been much more open to the idea of having a liaison set up for The Open Table. He'd suggested that Tony pick the person he trusted most to handle his affairs with the organization. Tony asked Gibbs if he'd mind to do it, and Gibbs had readily agreed. He'd been to the center a few times now with Tony and he understood why it was so important to him. He'd seen the way The Open Table was really a welcoming and homey place—an open table, so to speak—for anyone who darkened the door.

Their next stop was to visit The Open Table. Gibbs pulled into the space out front and he and Tony got out of the truck and headed for the door. They didn't knock, merely walked right in, and smiled at one of the volunteers who was straightening up beds and blankets in the front room.

"Hi Sarah," Tony said with a smile. She smiled back and said hello to Tony and Gibbs. Tony asked if Rusty was in and Sarah directed them to her office.

Tony looked at Gibbs before they knocked on Rusty's door. "She's gonna cry, you know," Tony said softly. Gibbs smiled and nodded. Tony took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Rusty called for them to come in from behind the wooden door. "Hi Rusty," Tony said softly, ducking his head inside.

Rusty was going through old files, boxing up books and papers, and trying not to cry all over everything. She wiped her eyes and forced a smile to her face. "Tony! Gibbs! What do I owe this unexpected pleasure to this afternoon?"

Tony smiled. "I um…I have something…we have something, we need to talk to you about," he said, glancing from Rusty to Gibbs and back again.

"What's that?" Rusty asked, sitting down in her chair.

"Tony's found a way to help The Open Table remain open," Gibbs said, jumping right to the point when Tony hesitated.

Rusty's eyes widened. "What? I don't…I don't understand…"

Tony set the file he was holding down in front of her. "Take a look," he said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from her desk. Gibbs moved the box out of the other chair and sat down next to Tony.

Rusty opened the file and began to read. Her eyes grew wider and her jaw dropped open as she read. The agreement said that the liaison (Gibbs) would make sure that each month $5000 was deposited into the new bank account that Tony had set up for The Open Table. That would be enough money to cover all of the overhead expenses, make sure there was plenty of food for everyone, and begin to do some work on the house that was in need of some repairs. Tony knew that it needed a new roof for one thing, and that there was some sort of leak or something in the basement causing constant dampness.

Rusty's eyes were filled with tears when she looked up at Tony. "I don't…why would you do this for us?" she asked. "It's…that's too much money, Tony! You can't afford that!"

"Actually I can," Tony said softly. "And I'm doing it because I want to. You'll get the five thousand each month, and in the meantime, the rest of the money is sitting in an account that only draws interest. It's not linked to the Market, so even if it crashes, the money will still be there. That keeps the money safe for you—and it keeps the supply of it up—it will continue to earn interest—adding and compounding to the principle—and that way you guys should be able to stay up and running for a very long time. And…And I'm a federal agent…so I never know what might happen to me. And so I'm going to set it up too, in my will, so that if something happens to me, you'll still get your money every month. And if it turns out that you ever need more money in a month, or if you need to raise the monthly stipend, just let me or Gibbs know. We'll make sure you always have what you need."

Rusty covered her face in her hands and sobbed for a long moment. Then she rushed from her chair and plowed into Tony, giving him a bone crushing hug. He hugged her back, his own eyes wet with tears, and let out a shaky laugh when Rusty moved from Tony to Gibbs to hug him as well, with embraces that reminded them both of Abby.

"I still don't understand," Rusty said a few minutes later, after she'd gained her composure. "What's so special about us that you would give us that much money?"

Tony shrugged and looked at his toes, his ears turning pink. "Um…well…you guys are like my family, y'know? I couldn't stand the thought that…and I had a way to help…" he shrugged again, "I just wanted to do it because I care for you guys so much."

"But Tony," Rusty said. "Where on earth did you get the money from? And aren't you selling yourself short by giving us all of this? Surely being a federal agent doesn't pay that well?"

Tony shook his head. "I have a trust fund. My mother died when I was young, and she left me quite a bit of money. I always wanted to do something with it that would make her proud," he smiled at Rusty. "And there's something about you that reminds me of my Momma," Tony said. "And I thought it would make Mother proud if I helped you out. I'm going to use some of the money to buy myself a condo. It's time I settled down, and DC is a good place to make a home." He smiled and looked at Gibbs and then at Rusty. "It's where my family is."

Rusty hugged him. "You are a good boy Tony," she said softly. "We are so blessed to have you. So blessed to have your gift. We'll never be able to repay you. You know that right?"

"I don't want to be paid back," Tony said. "I just want you to be here. This is the place I come when I need to regain my perspective. This…this is a piece of my home. And each of you is a piece of my family. And I will do whatever possible to protect that."

Rusty and Gibbs both wrapped Tony in a hug. "Come on," Rusty said. "Let's hurry downstairs. We've got some exciting news for everyone tonight!"

xxx

Tony selected a house, rather than a condo, a place that had enough room for a family to grow in if he decided he wanted a wife and kids, but small enough that he didn't feel lost in a big house by himself. It had a nice yard, and Gibbs was helping him landscape it so that it had beautiful gardens and trees in both the front and back yards. The house was about a mile from Gibbs' house—close enough to walk if he wanted, close enough to get there in a hurry if he was needed.

Tony and Gibbs had made Tony's house their own project. The other members of Gibbs' team had offered to help fix it up—because the house needed a lot of work done on it—but Gibbs and Tony decided to make it their own project, and had worked on it together. They'd rebuilt the floor and the staircases (both onto the front porch and up to the second floor), remodeled the kitchen, and repainted the entire house. Gibbs smiled when he saw the size of the basement and teased Tony that he'd be building boats in no time down there.

Several weeks after Tony had saved The Open Table, he plopped down on the beautiful front steps of his new home. He held a Dominion beer loosely in his fingers and propped himself comfortably against the wooden banister that Gibbs had so carefully crafted for him. It was early in the evening, and the sun was beginning to drop low on the horizon, but was still light enough to enjoy the sights around him. A few lightning bugs had begun to flicker around the yard and Tony pushed himself up off the steps. He walked over and unwound his water hose, and began to carefully water the beds that he and Gibbs had spent so much time working on.

Tony liked doing work with his hands, liked getting down and dirty, but liked best of all that Gibbs would help him. It was Gibbs' idea to have only the two of them work on the house, and Tony had loved every minute of the time they'd spent together. Two weekends a month, Tony and Gibbs were planning to spend their Saturdays at The Open Table, working on the house, repairing the small things that needed fixing, and overseeing the bigger jobs they were hiring out for.

Tony was happy with his house, happy with his yard, happy that he had found a loving family for himself. He slept well at night knowing that everyone in his family was now well-cared for—that he'd done everything he could to make sure that there was enough food, enough shelter, enough of everything, so that everyone who needed it could have a place at The Open Table.

The End


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I PLAYED WITH THE TIMELINE A BIT**—I know that the episode 9.01 Nature of the Beast took place in the fall, but for my purposes I wanted it in the spring. There's no need to point out to me that I'm wrong on it because I am already admitting it! That being said,** WARNING! SPOILERS for Episode 9.01 Nature of the Beast.**

_Thanks as always to Gotgoats, my wonderful beta and friend. You, my dear, are absolutely amazingly awesome. Big hugs to you!_

**The Open Table  
><strong>**Chapter 3: Instinct**

It was late in the evening, well past sunset. The spring night was chilly, but not frigid, and the clouds in the sky threatened to open the heavens in a downpour at any moment. The man stumbled on his feet, limping badly, favoring his uninjured leg, one hand grasping buildings and fences, propping listlessly in an effort to remain upright.

He wasn't sure where he was going, knew only that the shadows were following him and he needed to find someone to help him. He needed to keep moving. As he stumbled along, he raised a shaking hand to his head and drew it away to see that his palm was covered in blood. It felt like ten thousand elephants were dancing the samba right behind his eyes but he knew he had to keep walking. If he stopped they'd find him—even though he wasn't sure who "they" were.

Somewhere in the near distance, a car backfired and the man stopped and gasped in fear. The image of a woman covered in blood came to his mind's eye and he let out a soft, pained whimper. What had happened? Who was the woman? He couldn't remember, but he felt like he should know. Felt like he was close to her. The whine of sirens in the district brought him a sense of comfort rather than fear. He didn't know if he should be afraid of the police…were they his friends? Were they the shadows that were chasing him? He felt so confused. He couldn't remember lots of things…he did know his name, which was good; he figured that'd be helpful. He didn't know what day it was, where he was, or how he'd gotten there. He knew he needed to call for help, and knew _who _he needed to call, but he had no phone, and couldn't remember the number.

The rain began to fall, splattering the sidewalk with the refreshing water from the sky. He began to shiver, despite the heavy clothing that he wore. Wasn't it warm to be wearing all of these clothes? Perhaps it was the only way he had of carrying them. As he walked along, he slipped, rolling his ankle and wrenching his already injured knee painfully as he stumbled off the curb. He stayed on his knees for a long moment, taking inventory to make sure nothing was broken—though he wasn't sure how he knew to do that. Finally he pushed himself up and realized he was in front of a large house. Maybe he could just sit on the front steps for a few moments…maybe that'd help him feel better, give him a chance to get his bearings, give him the opportunity to rest his aching legs and clear his head a bit.

The man curled up as small as possible on the painted gray steps and put his head in his hands. He needed help, knew he needed help. But he had no idea where to get the help from or who to ask; who could he trust? He sat silently in the dark, rain pouring down on him, shivering, wishing for nothing more than to have death find him this night.

Maybe then he could find some peace.

xxx

"Have a good night," Sarah said as she opened the front door to leave The Open Table. She was a pretty regular volunteer at the shelter, had been for a few months now. She started to close the door, but stopped when she saw the hunched and shivering figure curled on the front steps. Sarah pushed the door back open and stuck her head inside. "I need some help out here please," she said. Two men in the front room joined Sarah on the porch as she turned on the porch's light.

"Excuse me?" Sarah called. "Would you like to come inside out of the rain?"

The man was startled by the sudden voice behind him and nearly fell off the steps.

"Hey easy!" Sarah said. "It's alright. Come inside out of the rain. You're safe here."

The man started to rise to his feet, but appeared injured. Sarah's companions—two men who were sleeping at The Open Table on this rainy night—quickly hurried down the steps and provided assistance to the man to help him to his feet. As they started slowly making their way up the four steps to the front door of The Open Table, Sarah's eyes widened with recognition. She knew this man! She held the door open until the four of them were all inside and Sarah slid her jacket off and hung it back up. "I'm going to get Rusty," she told the two men. "Will you stay with him?"

The two men recognized their visitor as well and nodded silently, eyes wide. Sarah raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, all the while wringing her hands, wondering what to do. There was so much blood…

"Rusty!?" Sarah knocked loudly on Rusty's door.

A moment later it opened. Rusty was wearing a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt—her usual sleeping attire. She hadn't been to bed yet, but was surprised by the urgent knock. "Yes? Sarah what's wrong?" She asked hurriedly when she saw the pale stricken expression on her young volunteer's face. "What is it?"

"You…You gotta come downstairs," Sarah breathed. "It's…Oh God, just c'mon you gotta hurry!" Sarah was off like a shot, running for the closet and gathering blankets.

Rusty headed down the stairs, wondering what all the fuss was about. It wasn't until she reached the front room that she drew up short and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Ohmygod," she breathed. Rushing forwards, she dropped to her knees beside the man who had been carefully guided into one of the wingback chairs. She cupped his face lightly, trying to see where the blood was coming from, and frowned a bit when he flinched away from her gentle touch with a soft grunt.

Slowly glazed green eyes blinked open and Rusty felt her heart break a bit when she didn't see any recognition there. "It's alright Tony," she murmured softly. "You're safe here. We've got you. I'm calling Gibbs ok? Calling him right now." She motioned for the phone and someone grabbed it and handed it to her.

Sarah appeared at her side and began covering him with blankets. Tony's head lolled back against the backrest of the chair and his eyes drooped to slits. Rusty was concerned that she hadn't heard Tony speak at all. This man was always so joyful and lighthearted, and he was always, always talking. It was obvious something awful had happened, something that had thrown him to the pits of despair, and obviously had left him injured. Rusty lightly brushed her hand against his forehead and frowned when she felt the low-grade fever of his pale skin.

"_Yeah, Gibbs," _came the soft voice on the other end of the phone. For a moment Rusty hesitated. Did Gibbs know what was going on with Tony? Had he put him into this situation?

"Gibbs it's Rusty," she said softly into the phone. Someone handed her a wet wash cloth and she began gently mopping Tony's face, cleaning it gently. Tony moaned softly and a sluggish hand rose and tried to bat her hand away.

"_What's up?"_

"You need to get over here," Rusty said. "And you need to hurry."

"_I'm on my way," _Rusty could hear keys jingling and a door slamming. _"What's going on?"_

Rusty looked at the young man who was curled in the chair, trying to make himself as small as possible, huddled under the blanket with his eyes shut tight. She set the washcloth aside and brushed a hand over his hair, feeling a bump on the side of his head. She'd wiped away a good bit of dried blood and was looking carefully at the gash on the side of Tony's forehead, near his temple.

"It's Tony," Rusty breathed softly. "He's here."

Gibbs punched the accelerator and the car swerved as he peeled out of the parking lot at NCIS. It was a fifteen minute drive to The Open Table from NCIS, and just under eight minutes later, Gibbs screeched to a stop outside the non-descript three-story house. He rushed up the front steps and didn't even knock at the door before he hurried inside. The Field Agent stopped short in the front room when he saw the young man who was like a son to him, huddled, shivering, and bleeding in the chair.

The older man dropped to his knees in front of Tony and put a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder. The young man whimpered and flinched, but Gibbs kept his touch steady. "Easy Tony," Gibbs murmured softly. "It's just me. It's Gibbs." He looked up at Rusty. "Has he said anything?"

"Not a word," Rusty said grimly. "Do you know what's happened to him?"

Gibbs shook his head and let out a frustrated breath. "I have some theories," he muttered, "But it seems as though I've mostly been kept out of the loop on things again." There was anger in his tone, but Rusty knew from the look of concern and compassion on the field agent's face, that the anger was not directed at Tony.

"Let me try to get him to talk," Gibbs said softly, moving a bit closer. Rusty nodded and backed away, giving Gibbs a bit of room. The older man shifted the blankets covering his friend carefully and shook Tony's shoulder gently. "Tony?" There was no response—unless you counted Tony trying to squeeze his eyes shut even tighter. "DiNozzo," Gibbs cupped the back of Tony's head gently and patted the pale cheek lightly. "You with me Tony?"

"Buh…" Tony broke off in a pained groan.

"Attaboy Tony c'mon, snap out of it. Wake up and talk to me. What hurts?"

"Hur…tssss," Tony mumbled, still quite out of it. "Ev'thing…hur…tsss…leg…head…" his eyelids fluttered slightly.

"You're doing great Tony. Good work. Can you open your eyes for me? Look up here." Finally Tony's eyes blinked open slowly, revealing glazed slits of green beneath the heavy lids.

"Boss." Tony was nearly silent, more air than voice, when he spoke.

Rusty handed Gibbs the washcloth and he gently wiped at the gash on Tony's temple. Tony grimaced in pain. "Owww," he tried to move away.

"Easy," Gibbs murmured. "I need to see how bad it is."

"S'not bad," Tony slurred softly. "Hurts. Gih…s?"

"Right here Tony," Gibbs said gently. "I'm right here. Do you know where you are?"

Tony blinked his eyes open and looked around. Recognition finally ignited in the green eyes and Rusty nearly cheered in relief. "R…Rusty…" he whispered. He swallowed hard and winced. "Can I…water?"

Rusty glanced at Gibbs who nodded. She hurried to the kitchen and Gibbs glanced at the others who quickly got the message to give them some privacy. Once everyone had left the room, Gibbs leaned in close to Tony. "What happened son? Where've you been Tony?"

Tony blinked up at Gibbs. "I don't…I dunno," he murmured. His eyes drifted closed and Gibbs shook him awake again. "I can't remember Boss…I can't remember what happened." Fear filled his eyes as he gazed at his boss—the only father figure worth a damn in his life.

"Try and stay calm…What's the last thing you remember?" Gibbs was schooling his features to look calm and was pushing his anger down. Whoever hurt his agent would pay dearly for their actions.

"I was…I was…an alley…I got…call from EJ…and she asked me to meet her…"

"What happened when you met her? Think it through Tony, one thing at a time, and try to remember what happened."

Tony was quiet for a moment, and his eyes drifted lazily around the room. Rusty appeared at Gibbs' side with a cup of water and Gibbs helped Tony take a sip. "EJ asked you to come meet her," Gibbs repeated softly. "What happened next? Did you meet her?"

"Uhmm…" Tony sighed and his eyes drifted shut. A moment later he forced them open again. "I think…yeah…yeah I met her…the other…other agent…with her…"

"Which agent Tony? Who else was there? Try to picture their face."

"Tall one…big…goofy one…" Tony murmured tiredly.

Gibbs let out a harsh breath. Tony was talking about Agent Cade. They'd found his body earlier, but his badge was missing. "Cade," he said softly. Tony nodded, then winced.

"We need to get you to the hospital," Gibbs said softly. He hooked a hand under Tony's arm and started to move him, but Tony whimpered in pain. "What is it?" Gibbs asked softly. "Where does it hurt?"

Tony sat still, gasping for several moments. "Ribs…shoulder," he panted. "Leg hurts…head…head hurts bad…"

"Ok," Gibbs whispered. "Did you ever get that knee looked at after the Chitwood case?" That was the case from several months earlier that had left Tony diving in a dumpster after their perp right around the time that The Open Table's trust fund had run out. He'd twisted his knee crawling out of the dumpster that day and Gibbs told Tony not long afterwards that he needed to get it looked at. From the pain and wincing he was doing now, Gibbs was beginning to think Tony had not heeded his advice.

"Didn't…never got…round to it…didn't hurt long," Tony said softly. He glanced at Gibbs, then his eyes drifted away. "Sorry Boss."

"It's alright," Gibbs said. "Let's move some of these blankets and see your ribs."

Tony nodded and started shifting slowly, trying to untwist from the blankets, groaning in pain. "Just let me help you," Gibbs said. "Just relax." Gibbs moved the blankets down and slid the black leather jacket off of Tony's shoulders and Tony let out a soft cry of pain. "Easy," Gibbs murmured. "Just relax, breathe, it's alright." Once Gibbs had the jacket off of him, he started unbuttoning the button down shirt. There was mud and dirt on the jacket and the shirt, and when Gibbs unbuttoned the shirt, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the bullet-resistant vest. His gut tightened when he saw the bullet imbedded in the Kevlar though. Beneath the vest, Tony was wearing a t-shirt, so Gibbs couldn't see his chest without hurting him further. He decided to leave it for now.

"Did you get shot Tony?"

Tony tensed for a minute. "I…I dunno," he whispered pitifully. "I don't remember…it's all…there was…I…I don't know."

Gibbs carefully patted Tony down, found Tony's gun and his badge, then frowned when he found a second badge tucked into his jacket pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was covered in blood. Closer inspection revealed that it was Agent Cade's badge.

Tony saw the badge. "That…mine…on my belt," he whispered. "Who's…who's is that?"

Gibbs was careful to hold it on the edges and not get his fingerprints on the face of the badge. "Will you get the bag out of my left jacket pocket," he asked Rusty softly. Rusty nodded and reached into Gibbs' pocket, pulling out an evidence bag. Gibbs dropped it in and turned his attention back to Tony. "We need to get you to the hospital," he said, purposefully ignoring Tony's question.

"Who's…badge…not going…anywhere," Tony forced out slowly. He blinked and forced his gaze to focus on Gibbs.

"It's Cade's badge," Gibbs said softly.

Tony forced out a harsh breath. "Did I…did I kill him? There's…blood's on it," Tony was becoming increasingly more aware with each passing moment, but his memory was still failing him.

"I don't know yet Tony," Gibbs said softly. "We'll sort it out though. It'll be alright."

"Boss I don't feel so good," Tony whispered, his face going immediately very pale. Before he could stop himself he lurched and heaved and threw up right in the floor.

"Oh dear," Rusty said, even as Sarah came in with the kit to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry," Tony panted, wincing in pain. "'m sorry…"

"It's alright Sweetie," Rusty said, "it cleans up. It's no big deal. I think Gibbs is right. I think you need to go to the hospital."

"No," Tony whispered. "No can't…not safe…not safe…" he shook his head weakly.

"Why isn't it safe Tony?"

"After me…find me there…have to keep moving…" Tony moved to push himself up but stopped, wincing in pain.

"Who's after you Tony?"

Tony looked up at Gibbs, and there was so much fear in his eyes, so much sorrow, that it nearly broke the older man's heart. "I don't know," Tony whispered. "I don't know who they are."

Gibbs pulled Tony into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around his boy gently. "Ok, it's going to be alright," Gibbs said softly. "I have your six remember? I'm not going to let you go."

Tony nodded, resting his head against Gibbs' shoulder, feeling safe for the first time in…he couldn't remember. "Will you stay?"

"At the hospital?"

Tony nodded again. His head was hurting even worse now, and his vision was beginning to gray around the edges. He leaned heavier against Gibbs, knowing that here, at The Open Table, with Gibbs and Rusty looking out for him, he'd be safe.

Gibbs glanced at Rusty, his chin resting lightly on the top of Tony's head. "Call an ambulance," he mouthed silently, knowing that Tony's tenuous hold on consciousness would not hold for long.

Rusty leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Tony's head and ran a light hand over his shoulder before leaving with the phone to dial for an ambulance. She'd call from another room so that she didn't upset the young man.

"Tony?" Gibbs spoke softly.

"Mmm?"

"How'd you get here Tony?"

"Walked," Tony said softly. "But I didn't…I wasn't trying to get here…I just was trying…get away…shadows."

"Trying to get away from the shadows?"

"Yeah…shadows're…following me…" he murmured.

"And you found your way here without trying," Gibbs said softly. Tony didn't respond, and the sudden heaviness of his body against Gibbs' told the older man that Tony had slipped into unconsciousness.

Rusty came back into the room. "The ambulance is coming," she said softly.

Gibbs shifted lightly so that Tony's position would be more comfortable on his bruised and aching body. "Good," he said softly.

"Gibbs…I'm just so glad he knew to come here," Rusty said softly, looking worriedly at her boy. She adored Tony.

"I don't think he even realized he was heading here," Gibbs said softly. "The way he made it sound…he just started walking and he unconsciously came here. It was his instinct that led him here."

Rusty smiled and her eyes filled with tears. "He's a good boy," she said quietly. She ran a light hand over his head again. "He'll be ok, won't he?"

"From the looks of his injuries on the outside…I'm going to guess that he's just got one hell of a concussion," Gibbs told her gently. "He took a bullet to the chest, but for whatever reason, thought it would be smart to have his vest on, so aside from some pain and bruising there, he's ok. Might have a cracked rib depending on how close the shooter was."

"Gibbs what about his memory? When he woke up here, he didn't know where he was! He's here all the time!"

"That could be from the concussion, but I'm going to make sure they check him out. We know someone…a counselor…I'm going to call her in as well."

Rusty nodded. It was a couple of minutes before the whine of the ambulance signaled it arrival. The EMTs nodded at Gibbs, having dealt with him before, and it didn't take them long to get Tony carefully loaded up and whisked away to the hospital. Gibbs stopped only long enough to thank Rusty for calling him before he was gone too.

After they left, the house seemed empty and quiet. Rusty dropped into the chair that Tony had been sitting in, and she put her head in one of her hands.

"Miss Rusty?" came a small voice from the doorway.

"Yes?" Rusty looked up. "Brianna honey, what are you doing awake?" Brianna was one of the guests at The Open Table. Her family stopped in regularly and would stay a few days, then leave for a few days, then show back up. Brianna was the oldest child of five; her mother worked two jobs trying to make enough money to buy baby formula and clothes for all of her children. Rusty agreed to help out with the children a bit here and there. Tonight she had them while Kiana, their mother worked. Brianna was only six years old, and was a beautiful child with flawless, coffee colored skin. Tonight though, her expressive brown eyes were filled with sadness and fear.

Brianna moved towards Rusty and crawled up in the woman's lap. "Where did Mr. Tony go?" Tony was almost as regular a face around The Open Table as Rusty was.

"Oh honey, Mr. Tony got hurt at work this evening. He had to go to the hospital to get checked out." Rusty didn't even realize the child was awake for Tony's visit.

"He gonna be ok? I like him lots. He brings me a Hershey bar sometimes."

Rusty smiled and hugged the girl close. "I think he's going to be just fine. You'll see him around here again soon. He and Mr. Gibbs went to get him checked out."

"He was talkin' funny."

"That's because he was hurting, Sweetie. Next time you see him I think he'll be feeling better and will be more like himself."

"Should we pray for him, Miss Rusty?"

"I think that would be an excellent idea," Rusty said with a gentle smile. She closed her eyes and listened as the child spoke softly of how she wanted Tony to feel better, for the doctors to take good care of him, and for his job to not make him get hurt anymore. When Brianna was finished, Rusty hugged her gently. "Let's get you back to bed, Little One," Rusty said. "Your momma will have my hide if she comes in from work and you're still awake."

After she tucked Brianna into bed, Rusty added a few prayers of her own to Brianna's as she climbed in to her bed. She kept a phone close by, knowing that as soon as Gibbs knew something, he'd pass the information along.

xxx

It was a couple of weeks before Tony was back at The Open Table. The concussion had really made an impact on the young man and he'd not quite been himself ever since that night. After being released from the hospital, Gibbs took him home to his own house, knowing that the familiarity would likely help trigger his still flagging memory. Gibbs stayed for a few days with him, and after that dropped by on his way to work every morning, at lunch every day, and every evening after work to check on him.

It turned out that his knee was severely sprained, a recurring injury thanks to previous injuries before it. He'd rolled his ankle as well and was still on crutches as a result. It amazed Gibbs that he'd gotten from the alley where they discovered Tony had been, all the way to The Open Table, nearly twelve blocks away. Tony couldn't offer any explanation; he didn't even remember being there that night.

Today after work, Tony's second day back on desk duty, he and Gibbs were going to stop by The Open Table on the way home from work just to say hi, and let everyone know that Tony was starting to feel better. He was greeted with hugs and smiles and slaps on the back. Information spreads like wildfire through the homeless community, so it didn't take long for most of the patrons at The Open Table to find out that their favorite volunteer (they didn't know Tony had donated all of that money to keep them running) had been injured and was in the hospital for a short stay.

As Tony and Gibbs finally made it into the dining room area where people were starting to eat, a little girl walked up and yanked on Tony's shirtsleeve.

"Mr. Tony?"

Tony looked down to see who was tugging on him and smiled. "Hi Brianna!" He balanced his crutch under his arm and reached into his coat pocket. "Got you something," he said with a wink.

Brianna's eyes were wide and lit with glee when he passed her the chocolate bar. She watched as Tony slowly made his way to one of the tables where several empty seats were left. "You gonna eat dinner with us Mr. Tony?" she asked.

"Don't know if I'm going to eat, but I want to sit for a few minutes," Tony said, slightly out of breath from the exertion. Gibbs took the seat next to him.

Brianna stood close to him, watching as he slowly lifted his leg into a chair and winced when it hurt. "What happened to your leg?" she wanted to know.

"I fell down," Tony said, greatly simplifying what had happened. Tony's doctors were watching the sprain carefully to make sure they hadn't missed any tears that could lead to surgery.

"Mr. Gibbs?" Brianna said, turning her attention to Gibbs.

"Yeah kiddo?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Did you do what Mr. Tony asked you to?"

Gibbs blinked and narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Um…I hope so. What did Mr. Tony ask me to do?" He glanced at Tony who looked just as confused as he felt.

"He asked you to stay with him at the hospital," Brianna told him matter-of-factly. "He was scared. Did you do what he asked you to?" She crossed her arms, protective of her friend.

Gibbs smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "I did. I stayed with him until they released him from the hospital, and then I took him home and stayed with him there to make sure he was alright and not afraid anymore."

Brianna nodded, happy with Gibbs' answer. "Are you his daddy?" she asked.

Gibbs smiled, but before he could answer Tony jumped in. "Yep, he sure is," he told the child.

Brianna's eyes rounded and she looked back and forth between Tony and Gibbs. "Really?"

Tony glanced at Gibbs and nodded firmly. "Yep. He's not my father, but he is my daddy."

Brianna tilted her head to one side while she tried to understand what Tony meant by that. "I don't get it," she said finally.

Tony smiled at her and pulled her into his lap. "Sometimes people have fathers—men who make sure that a kid has what they need to survive. Other times people have daddies—men who make sure kids have what they need, _and_ make sure their kids know they are loved too," he told her. "Do you see the difference?"

Brianna thought about it for a long moment. Finally she smiled and nodded. "I get it," she said. "I had a father once, but he left me and momma and the babies. Now we only gots each other." She looked at Gibbs. "I bet you're a good daddy," she said. "You always takin' good care of Tony."

Gibbs smiled, a blush tinting his cheeks and he nodded. "I try," he said. "Tony's sometimes hard to keep out of trouble, though," he added with a wink at the little girl. Brianna giggled.

Brianna slid off of Tony's lap then wrapped Gibbs in a hug. After she hugged Gibbs, she turned and wrapped Tony in a hug too. "I'm glad you came back," she told him softly, whispering right into his ear. "Welcome home Tony."

Tony glanced around the familiar house, at the familiar people, and smiled at Gibbs. He hugged Brianna back and let out a happy sigh. "Thanks kiddo," he said softly. "It's good to be home."

The End


End file.
